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Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Imagine Being Swept Into The Old West...

When I try to imagine living in the old west, I get dizzy from the thoughts of giving up all the things I've grown used to. Of course, back then, not ever having a hair dryer, a dishwasher, mascara, a television, a radio, I wouldn't know to miss them. In fact, my time-travel romance, Sisters in Time shows two women, one modern day and the other a pioneer wife, who switch bodies and eras, and how they each react to the lack of conveniences... or appearance of 'new-fangled' contraptions. You realize there's so much to this book, I just want to show it all...Taylor discovering she has no blow dryer or cell phone, while Mariah eventually experiences an automobile and finally an airplane. And then there's the frustration of the husbands whose wives don't seem to recognize them.

Here's a scene from the perspective of both women. First, Mariah, fresh from a cattle ranch in the 1800s, awakens in a modern-day hospital, attached to strange tubes and startled by a woman in white and a strange man who keeps calling her 'Taylor' while being way too familiar:

Early morning sunlight barely filtered through the window covering. Mariah’s head felt like it hovered somewhere above her. She blinked her eyes hoping she was in the middle of a bad dream and about to wake up. She grimaced as a strange band squeezed her arm and the nurse placed a round, flat object against Mariah’s skin. “Good blood pressure,
Mrs. Morgan. How are you feeling?”

How? Mariah felt terrified. She heard her own heartbeat. “I’m sore,”
was all she could croak out.

“Of course you’re sore. You were in a terrible car accident.”

Car? What kind of accident is a car? Where is my family? Her thoughts
jumbled, but putting them into words seemed impossible.

Her eyes widened when the nurse rounded the bed and Mariah noticed the shortness of her skirt. She bit her lip to keep her mouth from gaping. Unfazed, the woman tucked the covers in at the end of the metal frame. “Do you think you could manage a drink this morning? Perhaps some ginger ale? The doctor left orders for you to have liquids. Once we know you can tolerate drinking, perhaps we can get you a food tray.”

Mariah realized she was hungry. If she’d been here for two weeks, how did she survive without eating? Just the mere thought of being without food for so long made her stomach growl. She struggled, forcing out the words, “Yes…please.”

After the nurse placed a filled glass on Mariah’s tray, she pushed a button on the side of the bed. Mariah rose into a sitting position. Her gaze darted from the mechanism to the nurse, and questions burned in her mind. Oh my goodness! How did you do that?

Amidst her jumbled thoughts, she maneuvered around the tube in her arm and picked up the glass, anxious to ease the soreness of herthroat. As she took a sip, he entered the room.

“Taylor! Look at you. Sitting up! You must be feeling better.”

The man called David Morgan had combed his blond hair and shaved. He didn’t look nearly as haggard as she recalled. He appeared not quite as tall as her Frank, but the shirt he wore revealed the same muscular shoulders. Mariah considered him good-looking, but his clothes, his shoes...everything about him and this place seemed strange. Everyone
dressed and spoke differently. If only someone would explain what was
happening.

“It won’t be long before I can take you home, babe.” David interrupted her thoughts. “I’ll bet you’ll be happy to be back in your own home and bed.”

Mariah’s hand trembled. She set her glass down, lay back against her pillow and looked away. Why would she go home with him? She didn’t even know the man. Using every bit of strength she could muster, she turned her glaring gaze back to him. “I’m not Taylor!” she croaked.
*********************

Next we visit Taylor, a feisty female attorney, who awakens in a room very different from her own:

Taylor’s head pounded with pain. Trying to focus, she opened her eyes and blinked a few times, then propped herself up on her elbows. Everything looked strange. The room seemed bright and cheery, but things appeared very old fashioned. She fingered the patchwork quilt covering the bed, and puzzled over the antique mirror hanging above anold-time washbowl and pitcher across the room. An incessant achethrobbed in her temple.

Where was she? What’d happened to her? A zillion questions racedthrough her mind.

“David,” she called for her husband. Her voice painfully resonated inher head. “David, where are you?”

She slid off the bed. Her legs wavered beneath her and she clung to the bedpost. Slowly, as she regained her equilibrium, she weaved across the room and peered into the mirror. A massive bandage covered the top her head; black circles ringed her swollen eyes. She didn’t recognize herself. “Boy, I look like hell,” she muttered.

As she raised her hand to touch the bandage, the door behind heropened, and she spied the reflection of a strange man.

His brows arched. “Mariah, what are you talking about? What wrongroom?”

“Look fella, I’m not Mariah. Evidently you’re in the wrong place ifyou are looking for someone by that name.”

The stranger rushed over and took her in his arms. “Oh my sweet angel, the bump on your head is worse than Doc Samuels thought.”

Taylor shoved him away. “Take your hands off me. Who is Doc Samuels, and who in the hell are you?”

Suddenly, the room spun. Her stomach turned queasy. Needing to sit, she staggered back to the bed, her gaze still assessing the stranger.

“I’m Frank…your husband.” He followed her, his head cocked, his eyes clouded in confusion.

She swallowed. “Excuse me? My husband’s name is David...David Morgan. I don’t know who you are, mister, but you must be the one who bumped your head if you think I’m your wife.”

“Well, if you aren’t, then just who might you be?”

“Taylor Morgan. I live in Denver. Can you please tell me where I am?”

“You’re in Colorado, about two hours from Denver City. Don’t youremember?”

“Two hours? How in the hell did I get here?”

Frank’s eyes widened. “When did you start cussing?”

“Don’t worry about it, just answer me. How did I get here?” Her last nerve frayed, and he plucked at it.

“Don’t you recall? We were going to town in the wagon—”

“Wagon? What the hell would I be doing in a wagon? A station wagon?”

Frank took a deep breath. “We were going to town, and Jacob needed to pee. I think he disturbed some rattlesnakes and they spooked the horses...sound familiar?”

Taylor’s mind raced. Who was this loony? “Who is Jacob? Wagon? Whathorses?" She assaulted him with a barrage of questions. "I don’t know what you’re talking about. Frank...is it? Look, Frank, I have an idea. Why don’t you just call me a cab and I’ll get out of your way.”

She looked down at the tacky nightgown she wore and wondered who had removed her clothing. Tugging at the sack-like shift, she let out an exasperated huff. “If you’ll just retrieve my things, I’ll get dressed and be ready to go when the taxi arrives."

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